


Life Keeps Moving (Five Times Faster)

by mysugawara



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bullying, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Homophobic Slurs, M/M, Oikawa Pining, Pining, Pining Oikawa Tooru, Slow Burn, clueless Iwaizumi, minor homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2018-11-01 09:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysugawara/pseuds/mysugawara
Summary: Oikawa can't help but think of the man living across the hall, but how will he show his love for him?  This story follows Oikawa's tumultuous first year of university, and his battles with his romantic feelings, personal relationships, and those who oppose the showing of true feelings.





	1. The Man Across the Hall

To Oikawa, moving in with a roommate isn’t that big of a deal.  Going to a university isn’t a big deal either; it’s just another place to continue the same old grind of various academics in order to receive a piece of paper that didn’t matter much to him.  It is a piece of paper that holds value, but not an ounce of importance to his self-worth.  He has volleyball for that.  

Not that Oikawa doesn’t care for school.  He is intelligent, yes, but he is by no means a book worm.  He mostly rides the coattail of his excellent intuition (and connections) to help through his coursework.  School was just another hurdle for him to jump over; another step.  

One awkward handshake and conversation later, and the new arrivals to the old, dusty, cobweb-ridden halls of this university were acquainted.  Hopefully it wouldn’t be awkward for long; Oikawa can’t stand awkwardness.  He attempts to strike up a conversation, but is met with one word answers.  Well that’s that.  I guess the guy hasn’t quite set up shop yet.  

He scrolls through social media: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook.  Why does he use Facebook again?  A sea of deep red squares meet his eyes as he opens up Snapchat; strategically unopened to avoid starting any unwanted streaks from forming.  He tells people he doesn’t know well that he doesn’t use Snapchat much.  That is a lie.  

Noise from the hallway.  People are moving into their respective dorms.  Oikawa listens to the cacophony of voices that fill the hallway.  They converge into a constant hum.  The hustle and bustle from outside the dorm is a distraction, so Oikawa elects to put his headphones on.  American hip hop.  He got his taste of music from his teammates back in high school.  He was never too into music.  He turns the volume up a couple notches; enough to drown out the noises from the hallway.  

Naturally he falls asleep.  The move in was tiring, and he was not looking forward to class the next day.  He was only at this school for volleyball, after all.  As he drifts to sleep, he doesn’t notice his roommate leave the room.  Too lost in the music, his connection with the outside world lessens.  The punch of the bass, the crisp _ting_ of the high hats, the constant barrage of words set to an intricate rhythm.  It creates a space that one could get lost in forever; an abstract bubble that dulls the senses and makes it easier for sleep to take over.  It takes ahold of him quickly, and before he knew it he was in a deep sleep.  As he sleeps his headphones slip off, but it doesn’t wake him up.  

A knock at the door that Oikawa sleeps through.  A second knock that wakes him up.  A third comes, louder than the first two, causing him to roll out of bed.  He runs his hands through his hair and rubs his eyes.  

As he opens the door, he says sleepily, “Yes, what is it?”  It takes him a second to make eye contact with whoever was knocking at his door.  As he does, strong brown eyes meet his gaze, along with a stern face, spiked black hair, and broad shoulders.  

“Shit,” his lips let loose.  

The man raises and eyebrow, “Shit, what?” he asks.  

“Uh...shit...you’re...not my roommate,” Oikawa says with a nervous laugh.  

“Yeah...anyway,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key.  It has a number on the tag attached to the keyring.  It’s Oikawa’s room number.  “Tell your roommate to take better care of this.  You never know if some creep is gonna come into your room and steal something.  

“Yeah…” Oikawa says, half listening.  He follows the man’s figure downwards: his prominent biceps and pectorals, strong thighs and calves.  An athlete.  “Oh gosh,” he utters.  

“Yeah?” the man presses.  

“Gosh...he should...really keep track of this key.  Yeah.  You’re right.  Thank you so much for returning it.  

“No problem,” he says, still with a confused look on his face.  “Luckily you live right across the hall, so I didn’t have too much trouble finding where it belongs.  

“Yeah that’s great,” Oikawa responds.   _He lives across the hall. Across. The. Hall,_ he thinks.  “Thanks again, man.”  

“Don’t mention it,” he returns.  “Really.”  And with that, he turns around, opens the door to his own room, and walks inside.  

Oikawa slowly closes the door, and lets out a breath.  He stares at the key in his hand.   _Thank you, roommate,_ he thinks.  As he flops onto the bed, he unlocks his phone once more.  He opens a blank message, and addresses it to a friend named Hanamaki.  

 

> **Oikawa:** bro, i found him
> 
> **Hanamaki:** found who
> 
> **O:** _him_
> 
> **H** : bullshit
> 
> **O** : no, i have
> 
> **H** : you’ve been there for literally three hours
> 
> **H** : you better hope he’s a freak like you
> 
> **O** : i am not a freak. being gay does not make me a freak
> 
> **H** : not what i was referencing, but okay
> 
> **H** : i’m talking about his personality
> 
> **H** : why would anybody date a freak like you
> 
> **O** : lots of people would thank you very much.  meanie.  
> 
> **H** : i doubt you’ve even talked to him
> 
> **O** : you’ll be glad to know i have
> 
> **H** : “hi”
> 
> **O** : what we’re already talking
> 
> **H** : that’s probably what you said, dumbass
> 
> **O** : i did not!! he returned a key that my roommate dropped
> 
> **H** : mhmm, yeah.  well good luck with that.  
> 
> **O** : yeah i will have good luck with it.  

 

He sets his phone down and looks at the clock.  Dinnertime.  He should get some food, then go to sleep.  The thought of his 8 AM class the next morning gives him chills.  Oikawa is not a morning person, and never has been.  

As he opens the door to leave, he makes sure that his key is on him.  He doesn’t want to be like his roommate and lose his key on the first day.  He closes the door behind him, then turns and walks down the hallway.   

After a short walk down the street, he settles on a small cafe for dinner.  He orders a sandwich, some tea, and a scone for back in the room.  The meal is arrives quickly, and is delicious.  There are many students in the quaint cafe: some with scarves, hats, and thin gloves.  It still gets cold at night, as it is still early spring.  

Cool air surrounds him as he opens the door to the street.  His thin sweater isn’t enough to keep the chills away; a few steps later he is shivering.  He looks up at the surrounding skyline.  He isn’t from Tokyo.  The building are unfamiliar to him, yet they don’t scare him.  Tokyo has always been a symbol of opportunity for Oikawa.  It’s where all the best schools are, and with that the best volleyball teams.  Tokyo is diverse, a large city split into smaller sections that have their own personalities.  He’s only been here for tournaments, but now this is the place in which he resides.  Vehicles constantly buzz by: taxis, delivery trucks, mopeds, personal vehicles.  Sometimes Oikawa stops and watches them zoom by.  It seems like things move five times faster in Tokyo.  

The short walk back feels longer in the cold.  The campus sidewalks are nearly empty by the time he’s almost home.  Everyone is preparing for their first class the next day.  

 _Back on the bottom again._  Oikawa finds it strange how social structure works.  The third years are the kings of high school.  He is now one year older, but now on the bottom again.  Not that it matters much in university.  People are more focused on their own lives.  

Another shiver.  He decides it’s time to get back to the room.  Enough introspection for one day.  He lives on the fifth floor of his dorm building.  The sound of his footsteps echo up and down the stairwell, almost dulling any sound he makes.  

He starts thinking about the interaction he had with that man earlier.  That awkward conversation.   _He probably thinks I’m weird.  I’m weird.  I said weird stuff._ He runs his hands through his hair.  Why didn’t he ask him what his name was?  

“What is his name,” he says quietly to himself.  “What’s his name?”  He gets louder.  “What is his name?!  WHAT IS IT!”  

“Just ask him,” a voice responds from somewhere up the stairwell.  Oikawa can feel red rush through his cheeks.  

“I can’t just...do that,” he responds to the mysterious voice.  

“Well then, you’ll probably never know his name.  Screaming in a stairwell probably won’t help you, either.”  

“Yeah, thanks.” Oikawa calls.  

“No problem.”

Embarrassed, he walks up the stairs, then opens the door to his floor.  He sees no one in the hallway.   _At least they won’t know who I am_ , he thinks.  As he walks down the hall, noises can be heard from each of the rooms as he passes.  The thump of bass, TV noise, loud conversations.  When he reaches his room, there doesn’t seem to be any noise coming from across the hall.  He stands there, silent, and listens.  He hears nothing.  

Finally he sticks the key in the door, and opens it.  His roommate is laying on his bed with his phone out.  As Oikawa enters, he looks up from his phone.  

“What’s up?” he asks.  

“Not much.  Just grabbed some dinner.”

“Cool.  Hey,” he begins.  “I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier.  I’m just really stressed right now.  This is the first time I’ve been away from home.  I’m just not used to it.”  

“Don’t worry about it.  I just thought you needed time to settle in.  Oh, I almost forgot,” Oikawa says as he feels the extra key in his pocket.  “A guy that lives across the hall knocked on our door and gave me this,” he holds the key up so that his roommate can see.  

“Damn it!” he reacts.  He grabs the key out of Oikawa's hands.  “Well that was nice of him.  Luckily you left the door unlocked when you left.”    

“Did I?” Oikawa asks rhetorically.   _How dumb of me._ “Well, I’m gonna try to get some sleep.  Not looking forward to class tomorrow.”

“You and me both.”  

As Oikawa lays his head on his pillow, he can’t help but wonder about the guy from across the hall.  Who he is, what he likes to do, what he is doing here.  Maybe he was a soccer player.  Maybe he just really likes working out.  How about both?  

He drifts asleep thinking about the guy from across the hall.  Luckily, no suspicious dreams were to be had.  


	2. First Day

The sound of an alarm.  Sudden realization.  Panic.  Textbooks?  Got them.  Pencils? Anything to write on? No, just bring the laptop.  Backpack, jacket, socks, shoes.  Shit, no underwear.  Underwear, pants, socks, shoes, jacket, then backpack.  Grab the keys, open the door.  Schedule?  It has to be in the backpack somewhere.  A crumpled paper, smudged writing.  Biology; room 672.  Already late; need to run fast.  

Footsteps echo through the stairwell as Oikawa trudges down them in a panic after waking up late for class.  If he runs now, he’ll only be fifteen or so minutes late.  He’s sure that the professor won’t be too upset with him, hopefully.  Why would they care?  It’s not their job to look after students like him; all they should be worried about is teaching their lesson properly.  

He slams the door to his dormitory open, but stops.  Where are the science rooms located?  His brow furrows as he tries to remember the map of the college, and where each subject was housed.  Finally he remembers: the west side of the school houses math and science, building six.  Room 672.  So obvious.  

His backpack—filled to the brim with papers, textbooks, and his laptop—sways from side to side as he runs towards building six.  There are very few students on the sidewalk as he runs, and the ones that are there stare as he runs passed.  Was it really that important to get to class on time?  Maybe not.  Even so, he doesn’t wish to be remembered as the guy who was late to class on his first day, or didn’t even bother to show up.  

Finally, building six.  He opens the door, then looks at the directory—keep going straight down the current hallway, make a left, then a right.  A moderately sized lecture hall.  Hopefully the entrance is at the back and not the front; he doesn’t wish to make the walk of shame in front of the entire class while being ridiculed by the professor.  

After the walk down the hall, he arrives at room 672.  He opens the door, and to his relief, the entrance is at the back of the classroom.  He closes the door as quietly as he can, and chooses a seat at the back of the lecture hall.  It doesn’t seem like anybody has noticed him come in.  The professor is writing something on the whiteboard.  

“Nice of you to join us, my friend,” the professor says loudly.  Oikawa’s face rushes red.  The professor turns around and gives a smile.  “No need to be embarrassed. It happens. What is your name?”  

“Oikawa Tooru.”  

“Nice to meet you, Oikawa.  I wasn’t in the middle of anything really important, so I’ll save you my usual lecture.  Sorry for causing a show; just don’t let it happen again.”  The man gives a passive-aggressive smile, then turns back to the white board.  Oikawa hears a couple of snickers from the class.

“I won’t, sir,” Oikawa responds.  He shakes off the embarrassment, pulls his laptop out of his backpack, and prepares for the lecture.  The professor resumes the lecture, and the class soon forgets about Oikawa.  The self-centered nature of college students is beneficial for once.  

Biology lectures couldn’t get anymore boring, but the only thing that keeps Oikawa going is the fact that he doesn’t want to give the professor any more reason to call him out.  He listens to his words carefully and writes out what he thinks is necessary.  Some of the class have their heads on their desks, some are actually sleeping, and some just sit and listen.  

The professor ends the lecture at 9:30.  Most get up and leave immediately after he says they are free to go.  Oikawa slowly puts his stuff away into his backpack.  He watches the horde of students leave the lecture hall, transitioning from face to face as they pass.  A girl with a pretty face.  Skinny male with glasses and a briefcase.  Heavier girl with pigtails, also cute, probably not his type.  Another skinny guy without glasses this time, wearing an expensive jacket.  Rich kid.  Sporty type, burly, spiky hair, strong eyes…

_ The guy from across the hall! _

Oikawa stares as the guy climbs the stairs, looking at his feet while he walks.  His expression is mostly blank, but calm at the same time.  He wears an olive canvas jacket over a maroon sweater, with blue jeans.  

_ He has almost no style, but he’s cute anyways,  _ Oikawa thinks.  The guy exits the room, and Oikawa slings his backpack on his shoulder and follows. 

_ Don’t follow him, don’t follow him,  _ Oikawa tells himself.  That’s creepy.  Don’t do that.  Creeps do that.  

 

_ Why would anyone date a freak like you? _

 

Hanamaki wasn’t serious, but Oikawa sure doesn’t want to be perceived as a freak by the man across the hall.  When is his next class?  He pulls his schedule out of his bag and looks at the crumpled piece of paper.  Composition, 2:00 PM.  About four hours to kill before class.  

Oikawa decides to go back to his room and prepare his things to avoid another late-to-class situation.  He walks back from class, this time through sidewalks that are crowded with students coming from their 8 AM classes.  The sound of hard-soled shoes on concrete, stray laughs, a shout here and there.  People messing around with their friends, eating a quick breakfast, or simply relaxing before class.  The sun shines down on the sidewalk, causing Oikawa to squint.  The leaves aren’t quite on the trees yet, but the cherry blossoms are just emerging.  Soon they would be falling off the trees.  

After a short walk, Oikawa arrives at his dorm room again.  His roommate is not there when he enters.  He throws his backpack on the ground, slumps himself on the bed, and pulls his phone out of his pocket.  

 

> **O** : did you have an 8 am class too?
> 
> **H** : yeah.  ended ten minutes ago.  
> 
> **O** : what class?  
> 
> **H** : composition.  I can already tell i’m gonna hate that class
> 
> **O** : that’s my next one.  I saw  _ the one  _ in class today
> 
> **H** : oh? and how is he
> 
> **O** : cute as ever.  He has no fashion sense though.  
> 
> **H** : You guys have something in common, then  
> 
> **O** : rude
> 
> **H** : it’s true
> 
> **O** : no it’s not.  well, maybe it’s true today.  i just had to throw something on
> 
> **H** : Why?
> 
> **O** : i woke up late
> 
> **H** : on the first day?
> 
> **O** : yeah
> 
> **H** : dumbass
> 
> **O** : YOU’RE SO RUDE!!!
> 
> **H** : How do you wake up late to class on the first day?  I bet the professor was super impressed
> 
> **O** : yeah i don’t wanna talk about it.  Is it volleyball season yet? 
> 
> **H** : haha i wish.  
> 
> **O** : i might have to go to the gym and set some balls.  I need to find some of my teammates
> 
> **H** : good luck with that.  You have the social skills of a potato
> 
> **O** : blocked

 

He sets his phone down on the table.  Why is Hanamaki such an ass?  He rolls out

of bed and pulls out his laptop to go over the notes from the lecture.  After a while of studying, he closes the laptop and sets it back in his backpack.  Social skills of a potato.  Potatoes can’t even talk.  But at least potatoes look somewhat appetizing to strangers.  

 

. . .

 

After his lunch, he still has another hour or two to kill before his next class.  He walks out of the cafeteria and makes his way out of the main building.  Once out, he turns towards the outskirts of the campus; where Tokyo begins.   

The city is bustling as usual.  It is a nice spring day; the sun shines brightly and fills Oikawa with warmth as he walks down the street.  He spots a clothing store that interests him, so he elects to walk inside.  

After browsing for a short while, he exits the store.  He continues walking down the street, shivering as he crosses into the shadow of a tall building.  The streets are unfamiliar to Oikawa, yet he keeps walking without a moment’s hesitation.  Inpatient car horns honking, the constant sound of soles against concrete, and the strange absence of conversation.  Everyone keeps to themselves here.  No old ladies stopping you in the middle of the street to talk to you about their new flower garden.  No children cutting you off while playing an innocent game of tag.  No one stopping on the sidewalk to have a conversation with an old friend they haven’t seen in awhile.  

Oikawa looks at his phone.  1:15 PM.  He should be heading back now.  The sun is now passed its highest point, starting its descent into the horizon.  Oikawa walks back past the shadow of the building, the small clothing store, and the cute cafe he visited the night before.  The street still bustles with crowds of people.  Life still moves all around him.  No one cares about him as he walks down the street.  A new city; a new community.  A new culture.  Why didn’t anyone care?  

The clock shows a quarter to two as he arrives back on campus.  This time he knows exactly where he’s going.  Building two.  Room 205.  A short walk later and he’s there, arriving almost ten minutes early.  

He takes a seat near the front of the classroom.  The professor hasn’t arrived yet, or the TA.  A few stray students funnel in and take their seats, all equidistance from Oikawa.  Typical, self-centered university students.  

Five minutes later the professor arrives, along with more of the students.  They finally start taking seats next to others; some actually try striking up conversations.  One of these students sits next to Oikawa, but he is too buried in his phone to notice.  

“Good afternoon,” a gruff, disinterested voice says to Oikawa as it sits down.  It belongs to a man in an olive canvas jacket.  Oikawa does a double take.  

“Good...afternoon,” he mutters.  

The man looks at him.  “Hey.  We meet again.”  

“Yeah,” Oikawa says rubbing his neck. 

“I didn’t introduce myself,” the burly man says as he pulls his notebook out of his backpack.  “I’m Iwaizumi Hajime.”  

“Oikawa Tooru,” he responds.  “Nice to meet you.”  

Oikawa spends the entire lecture sneaking glances at the man.  His strong, yet defined jawline.  His stoic, yet handsome face.  In fact, Oikawa can hardly pay attention to the lecture.  Iwaizumi spends the lecture buried in his notes, writing down almost every word that comes out of the professor’s mouth.  Oikawa tries his best to disguise his stares, using side eyes and fake attempts at grabbing something out of his backpack.  

When the lecture ends, Iwaizumi puts his things in his backpack, then catches Oikawa sneaking another glance at him.  

“What are you looking at?” he asks Oikawa.  

Oikawa almost flinches at the discovery of his antics.  “Nothing.”  

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow—seemingly his signature move—before slinging his backpack on one shoulder and walking out of the classroom, leaving Oikawa to his own devices.  

Oikawa lets out a deep breath once he leaves; a breath he might have been holding in for the entire lecture.  Then it dawns on him: he hadn’t listened to a single word of the lecture.  Hopefully nothing was assigned, but he isn’t too worried about that right now.  

As he walks back to his room, he feels glad that he finally knows the boy’s name: Iwaizumi.  The trouble is, Oikawa doesn’t know anything about him, besides that he’s a bit stoic, and maybe a bit irritable.  But, he has a pretty face, and an even prettier body.  He isn’t too concerned with personality.  Not yet.  

He unlocks the door to his room and finds his roommate inside.  

“So how was your first day?” he asks.  

“It was fine,” Oikawa says tiredly.  “I’m glad it’s over.”  

“You and me both,” his roommate responded.  He seems to say that a lot.    

“Do you know anything about the people that live across from us?” Oikawa asks.  

“Not a thing.  Why do you ask?”  

“No reason,” Oikawa says, surprisingly convincing.  He lies down on his bed and looks at his phone.  No new messages, no new notifications.  

_ I need to find some friends,  _ he thinks.  Hopefully as time goes on, he will grow closer to the one he longs for.  He wishes for nothing more at this point; nothing more than to grow closer to the one he barely knows, but knows he needs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I enjoyed writing this chapter so much, and it feels even better to be consistently updating again! Expect another update within the week!


	3. Weekend

“Oikawa,” The Roommate says as he looks up from his textbook.  

“Yes,” he responds, in a disinterested tone, too engrossed in the pictures he is looking at to pay any real attention to what The Roommate was about to ask.  

“When does the volleyball season start?”

After a few seconds of silence, Oikawa realizes that his roommate was, in fact, still talking to him.  “It starts in the Fall.  Why do you ask?”  

“I heard that you’re a good player.  I’d like to see you play some time.”  

“Hmm, that’s interesting,” Oikawa returns.  

The Roommate wears a confused expression.  “Why is that so interesting?”  

“I didn’t really know you cared about me,” Oikawa says.  

“Why wouldn’t I care about you?”

“I don’t really know...I haven’t really thought about it that much.”  

“Well obviously you don’t care enough about me to look up from your damn phone,” The Roommate says coldly.  

Ouch.  Too real.  “Yeah…” he says after a short pause.  He looks up from his phone, then looks directly at The Roommate.  “I’m sorry, I’m just a bit distracted at the moment.”  

“A girl?” The Roommate asks.  

Oikawa cringes at the thought.  Not ever again.  “No…”

“Then what is it,” The Roommate presses.  

“It’s none of your business,” Oikawa says with his nose high in the air.  

The Roommate smiles.  “I can sense a hopeless romantic when I see one,” he says with a wink.  

_I’ve been found out,_ Oikawa thinks.   _How does he already know me that well?_

The Roommate goes back to his textbook, his nasty smirk still on his face.  What a jerk.  Oikawa’s lovelife was obviously none of his business, so why was he trying so hard to get information out of him?  

A few weeks have gone by since that hectic first day of class.  They consisted of Oikawa sitting in class, sneaking occasional glances at The Boy Next Door (his primary nickname for Iwaizumi whenever he discussed it with Hanamaki) whenever they were in the same class, or even the same room for that matter.  Iwaizumi almost never noticed, and when they did make eye contact, it didn’t occur to Oikawa that Iwaizumi sensed that anything was wrong with it.  Just regular old “awkward” eye contact, right?  Nothing to be worried about.  

Iwaizumi would always leave class first, and Oikawa would follow behind him; making sure he wasn’t close enough to arouse suspicion.  Oikawa wasn’t a stalker—at least that’s what he thought.  He had intentions of finding an opportunity to talk to him, but the opportunity never presented itself.1  So, he wasn’t technically a stalker.  But technically he was.  

_I’m not a stalker,_ Oikawa thought as he followed Iwaizumi through the winding (and honestly confusing) path to his next class.  Luckily there was a bathroom right before the classroom, and every day that’s where Oikawa would find his excuse to be there if Iwaizumi happened to ask him.  It was nowhere near the closest bathroom to the lecture hall their previous class was in.  

Reset.  Rinse.  Repeat.  That was the first few weeks of class.  

Oikawa sets his phone down on his nightstand and gets out of bed.  It’s still late morning on a Saturday, and Oikawa feels that it’s time to actually do something with his day.  He opens his closet door, and remembers that he has laundry to do.  Ugh.  

Lights, darks, cold wash.  A trip down to the laundry room, and 400 yen later Oikawa has a lump of dried, wrinkled clothes.  Fold, fold, fold.   _This is so menial,_ Oikawa thinks.  

With the laundry done, Oikawa can finally do something meaningful with his day.  But what is there to do?  He checks his closet again—this time with no dirty clothes—and picks his outfit for the day.  While contemplating his options, it occurs to him that he has no idea what he should do.  Hanamaki also lives in Tokyo, but it’s at least a thirty minute train rideand a twenty minute walk to get to his place.  Oikawa ultimately decides that it’s worth it, so he continues picking out his clothes—finally deciding on a pair of khaki slacks with a white and grey sweater.    

 

O: hanamaki, are you doing anything today

H: no

O: aren’t you exciting

H: i mean i could just refuse whatever you are about to offer

O: i’d rather you not do that

H: then drop the attitude, princess  

O: why would calling me princess be demeaning?  i would love nothing more than to be a princess.  i have the looks for it if you haven’t noticed

H: yeah, whatever you say.  so what did you text me for all of the sudden?

O: do you want to hang out

H: sure.  are you coming here or am I going there?  

O: i’m coming

H: alrighty.  shall we get lunch?

O: sounds good.  leaving now.  

H: k

 

Once on the train, Oikawa takes out his phone and looks at the pictures on Iwaizumi’s Instagram, for the second time that day.  If only he had the courage to say a word to him.  

_Hey, I think you’re really cute,_ he would say.  

_I think you’re cute as well,_ Iwaizumi would say back.  Perfect.  

The train rocks slightly as they move across the tracks.  Electrical pylons zoom past as they cruise, the wires rising and falling gradually like waves on an ocean.  Buildings reflect light from the sun, and the reflections catch Oikawa in the eye, making him blink.  Cars move on the street, seemingly at a snail’s pace compared to the speed of the train.  Traffic.  Always traffic.  City bustle and clutter.  Too many people going to different places, but at the same time.  

He smells the perfume of a woman sitting next to him.  She is wearing pinstripe suit with matching pants and glossy black flats.  Her hair is long and shiny, but dyed a dirty blonde.  He can’t help but admire it.  So many unfamiliar faces on one train.  She is probably on her way back from her lunch break.  Oikawa wonders if she likes her job, and the way she dresses for it.  Were her clothes expensive?  Maybe she likes wearing suits.  Beggars can’t be choosers.  There are worse dress codes you could have.  

A stray cough, a sniffle to match it.  Some wear masks to protect from just that.  Oikawa isn’t a fan of how they look, but he guesses that their purpose outweighs the aesthetic.  The benefits outweigh the cost.  That could apply to a lot more things in life.  

Just when Oikawa can’t stand being left to his own thoughts, the train finally arrives at the station. The voice in his head is annoying, and makes too much sense sometimes.  Oikawa can’t help his perceptive mind, but sometimes that same gift felt like a curse.  

He steps off the train into a crowd of people waiting to board.  While he weaves through the crowd, he checks to see if he has all of his belongings.  Phone?  Check.  Bag? Check.  Billfold?  Check.  Everything is in order.  He doesn’t know the exact way to Hanamaki’s apartment, but he does know his address.  After plugging it into his phone, he zooms out to see the entire route.  Like he expected, it was roughly a twenty minute walk.  

He makes his way down the sidewalk, dodging businesswomen with their faces buried in their smartphones, and equally annoying businessmen talking loudly on their earpieces, having long since released any inhibitions in relation to having a phone conversation in public.  Everyone looks at the ground.  The only people who are talking are the ones on their cellphones, or the ones that already know each other.  

Not long after Oikawa reaches Hanamaki’s apartment.  He enters the building and buzzes Hanamaki’s room repeatedly.  

_“Shut up, asshole!”_ Hanamaki shouts through the speaker.  “ _It’s unlocked!”_

“Oh, right.  My bad.”  He is fully aware that is unlocked.  He trudges up the stairs to the fifth floor, then enters the small apartment.  

“Nice place,” Oikawa says sarcastically as he takes a onceover of the room.  

“Shut up,” Hanamaki retorts.  “It’s good enough for my needs.”  

“Makes me wish I was back at Seijoh,” Oikawa says, wiping dust off the top of a bookshelf.  “You can read?”

“What’s with the attitude?” Hanamaki asks.  

Oikawa pauses a moment to take a breath.  “Oh, nothing.  Just the fact that I’m dumb and stupid.  Did I mention I’m an idiot?”  

“Give yourself some credit.  You’re not _that_ dumb.”  

“MEAN!” Oikawa shouts as he punches him in the shoulder.  “Only I can insult myself, you already know that.”  

“So I take it it’s not going too well,” Hanamaki says as he sits down, cross-legged, on the floor next to his table.  “How does that not surprise me?”  

“I just…” Oikawa trails off.  “I just can’t talk to him.  I can never find the right time.”  

“Man, you just need to do it,” Hanamaki says forcefully.  “There is no ‘right time.’  The right time is any time.”  

“Yeah,” Oikawa scoffs.  “Tell that to my brain.”  

The apartment they converse in is small, but has its charm.  There’s a kitchenette with a small sink, a small table in the center of the room with cushions for seating, a TV mounted on the back wall, and bookshelves all around, stocked with knick knacks and random books that obviously weren’t Hanamaki’s.  There is also a small bathroom hidden behind a sliding door adjacent to the kitchenette, which smells heavily of cigarette smoke.  

“You smoke?” Oikawa asks, desperately trying to change the subject.  

“Do I look like the smoking type to you?”  

“Well, no I was ju—”

“Previous renter,” Hanamaki cuts in.  “He smoked in the bathroom so the whole place wouldn’t smell like smoke.  Landlord probably didn’t like it.”  

“I see,” Oikawa says.  “The rest of the place smells nice.  You’ve been burning incense?”

“Yeah.  I like the smell.  Good for meditating.”

“So that’s why you’re so chill?” Oikawa teases.  

Hanamaki chuckles.  “Exactly.”  

As they chat, the sun moves across the sky and slowly sinks into the horizon.  Shadows creep across Hanamaki’s room, casting odd shapes on the wall.  Oikawa can feel his mood lightening, and he realizes how much he’s been craving interaction like this since university started.  Hanamaki’s laugh is comforting—satisfying, even.  It’s more like a soft chuckle, but because of its rarity, it can instantly lift anyone’s mood.  As the day, and eventually the night, goes on, laughing gets easier, the jokes more effortless, and the good vibes become sweeter.  Hanamaki grabs some alcohol from his small refrigerator, along with some glass cups.

Both of their cheeks gradually blush as the warmth of the alcohol sweeps over them.  Things become funnier instantly, and ideas come easier.  Eventually they decide to go to a bar and hang out there.  Hanamaki knows some people from his school that will be there, so Oikawa can meet them and connect.

The door slams as their giggles echo down the hall, down the stairs, and through the lobby of the building.  They reach the street and start walking towards the bar and after a short walk they arrive.  

Hanamaki introduces Oikawa to his friends, and immediately the gushing starts.  

“Oh you’re a volleyball player?  That’s so cool!”  

“I can’t believe you got into that university!  I got rejected, and I thought my grades were pretty good!”  

“You’re so tall!  And handsome!  Wait, did I say that outloud?”  

Oikawa could even sense through the blurriness of the alcohol that some of these girls were flirting with him.  Some made genuine conversation, but others kept pressing with personal questions, like:  “Do you have anyone special on campus?”

Oikawa’s distaste for the whole situation grows with each passing minute.  The conversations get duller, less coherent, and more annoying as the teenagers down their drinks.  None of them are legal, but it doesn’t look like the bartender cared.  

Hanamaki senses that Oikawa’s mood is worsening and decides to make an excuse for them to leave.  Oikawa refuses, but after a short while of goading from Hanamaki, he eventually gives in.  Oikawa hates being the buzzkill.  

When they arrive back in the apartment, Hanamaki grabs two cups from the cupboard and starts making tea.  “You can crash here.”  

Oikawa can smell the alcohol on his own breath.  “Thank you for making tea.  I would rather not wake up with a hangover tomorrow.”  He lets out a groan and collapses on Hanamaki’s futon.     

“Don’t fall asleep on me.  I almost have the tea ready.”  

Oikawa muffles something inaudible.  

“What?”

“I said, ‘I’m not going to fall asleep,’” Oikawa whines like a teenager.  

“You’re so pissy when you’re drunk,” Hanamaki says bitterly.  

“Am not,” Oikawa responds, muffled again.  

“Are too.”

“Am not!” in the same tone as before.  

Hanamaki takes the teapot off the stove and pours them both a cup.  He walks over to where Oikawa is lying and softly kicks him.

“Take your fucking tea,” Hanamaki says sleepily.  Oikawa groans in response.  “Oi,” Hanamaki says, louder this time,  “take your tea, or I’m gonna splash it on you.”

“Why was alcohol invented,” Oikawa whines as he rolls over on his back, reaching up to take the cup of tea from Hanamaki.  

“To make people forget about their problems,” Hanamaki answers.

“My problem is Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says.  

“Iwa-chan, huh,” Hanamaki says, taking a sip of his tea.  “You don’t even know him that well and you’re already giving him a nickname like that?”

“Why not?” Oikawa asks.  “We’re basically married.”  

Hanamaki chuckles.  “Drink your tea, idiot.”  

“I am!” Oikawa cries.  He takes a sip and burns his lip on the hot liquid.  He whines in pain.  

When they finish their tea, Hanamaki gathers the cups and washes them in the sink.  Then he moves to the closet and pulls out an extra futon for Oikawa.  

Oikawa is, naturally, thinking about Iwaizumi again.  He wishes he could have a night like this one with him.  Effortless conversation, laughter.  Forgetting to worry about their problems.  It just seemed right.  

He rolls over in his futon and looks at Hanamaki, who is lying face up reading a book.  

“You’re my only friend, Hana,” Oikawa says.  

“You know that’s not true,” Hanamaki responds.  

“My only true friend,” Oikawa corrects.  

“God, just go to bed already.”   

 

 

   

**_1_** _Editor’s note: the opportunity presented itself many times, but Oikawa was either: a) too nervous to talk to him, or b) too daft to realize that it would have been the perfect opportunity to do so._


	4. Unexpected Developments

Oikawa wakes up to blurry vision and a pounding headache.  Memories of the previous night are hazy in his head, thanks to the symptoms of his obvious hangover, which are the main source of his regret.  

As he pulls the covers off of his futon, he notices Hanamaki sitting at his tiny dining room table, sipping tea casually with one leg crossed over the other.  

“Bad morning?” he says when he realizes Oikawa is looking at him.  

The facial expression that Oikawa returns can be described as nothing less than disgust.  

“Hey, don’t fault me for your inability to keep yourself hydrated when drinking.”  

“You know how much I hate you?” Oikawa says sourly.  

“Yeah?  How much?”

“A lot.”  

“Well, thanks.  Love you too, bro.  Let’s get rid of that hangover.”  

Hanamaki isn’t the best cook, but he sure isn’t the worst.  He makes them both eggs over rice, and even goes as far as cutting up some fresh fruit.  Oikawa is grateful for the food, even though his appetite has apparently vanished.  Hanamaki finishes off the meal with a fresh pot of green tea, which goes really well with the fresh fruit, Oikawa finds.  

“Thanks for letting me crash at your place,” Oikawa says as he swallows his last bite of food.  

“Don’t worry about it.  It was a fun night last night, even though it didn’t look like you were having a lot of fun.”  

“I was, too,” Oikawa says, not very convincingly.  

Hanamaki raises an eyebrow.  “Yeah.  Right.”  

“Alcohol made it better.”

“That’s not what you were saying last night.”

“Really?  What was I saying then?”  

“You asked me why alcohol was invented, much in the tone of a little school child.”  

“I am _not_ a school child!”

“Fine.  A school girl.”

Oikawa tosses his napkin at him.  “You’re not funny.”

“I, for one, think I’m hilarious,” Hanamaki returns.  

“Well that’s good for you.”  

Oikawa helps clean up and leaves the apartment shortly after.  Hanamaki walks him down the stairs to the front entrance, and waves him goodbye.  

The day is cloudy and a bit chilly.  Oikawa takes in a deep breath.  Rain.  He can smell it.  There aren’t too many people on the streets, and the ones who are carry umbrellas with them.  Oikawa begins walking down the sidewalk towards the train station; constantly wary of the threat of rain.  Soon sprinkles of rain touch his skin andthat eventually turn into drops.  Thankfully it doesn’t downpour, but Oikawa’s clothes are quite wet when he arrives at the train station.  

Many people are taking cover under the awnings of benches and the platform itself.  People crowd close together, almost shoulder to shoulder.  Oikawa finds it funny that people avoid each other at all cost, except when there’s an outside force that forces them to interact.  Awkward conversations pop up in the crowd.  

“I hate rain!”

“I should have brought my umbrella.”  

“Why did I wear denim today?”

“Crazy weather we’re having isn’t it?”

Oikawa pulls his headphones out of his backpack and puts them on.  Listening to music is definitely better than listening to small talk between strangers.  He is surprised that they’re talking to each other at all.  

After a few minutes, the train pulls up to the station and people pile in.  The smell of damp clothing pervades through the small train.  Shoes squeak as people shift in their seats.  Same stray coughs.  Same sneezes.  The only people who talk are the ones that know each other.  How do people connect in this world if they don’t talk?  Why don’t they talk?  

Why doesn’t he talk?  

The rain lightens as they cruise along.  Raindrops roll down the windows on either side, leaving trails like shooting stairs against a black night sky.  The wet pavement of the Tokyo streets reflects the light of the illuminated traffic lights and signs.  People have cleared the streets.  Only cars remain.  Perhaps the only time Tokyo gets a chance to breathe is when it rains.  

The intercom dings as they approach Oikawa’s stop.  Wheels screech as they slow to a stop.  Doors open, feet shuffle.  The smell of wet pavement meets Oikawa’s nose as he exits the train.  

A rather lonely walk home later and Oikawa is back at his room.  The Roommate is not home.  Probably out doing something with his friends.  Good.  Now Oikawa can mope around in peace.  

Another Sunday passes by with little activity from Oikawa.  Nothing but social media checks, a little bit of reading, and some homework.  He settles on instant noodles for dinner.  Simple, fast, easy.  As he eats, his phone buzzes, and he walks over to where it’s charging to look at the notification.  

 

> **Unknown number:** hey, could you grab something out of the room for me?  

 

Oikawa is puzzled at the random message.  He doesn’t have any idea who it could be.  

 

> **O:** uh, who is this?

 

A few minutes pass before he gets a response:

 

> **U:** it’s your roommate.  didn’t i give you my number?

 

Oikawa doesn’t remember receiving a number from The Roommate.  

 

> **O:** i don’t think you ever gave me your number
> 
> **U:** uh, i totally did.  i wrote it on a sticky note and left it on your desk

 

Oikawa looks up from his phone and looks at his desk.  There, he spots a yellow sticky note sitting in front of his laptop, with a series of numbers written in black Sharpie.  

 

> **O:** so you did
> 
> **R:** yeah i did.  so, now getting back to what i was going to originally ask you: can you grab me something from the room?

 

Oikawa contemplates this for a moment.  That would require him to get up from where he currently lay, open the door to his room, go down a couple flights of stairs, and locate his roommate—wherever he is—to give him back the item he required.  

 

> **O:** sorry i’m busy right now.  
> 
> **R** : with what
> 
> **O** : i’m not in the room
> 
> **R** : i know you are
> 
> **O** : i’m not
> 
> **R** : you literally just checked your desk for that sticky note
> 
> **O** : how do you know?!
> 
> **R** : you would’ve argued my previous point, probably
> 
> **R** : also that response you just gave tells me that i’m right
> 
> **O** : are you a psych major?
> 
> **R** : chemistry.  could you please grab my freaking wallet from the room?
> 
> **O** : why should i?
> 
> **R** : um, i’ll buy you food?  

 

That changes Oikawa’s mind.  He rummages through The Roommate’s desk and finds his wallet in a drawer.  He then puts on his jacket and leaves the dorm room, locking the door behind him when he leaves.  

A few minutes later, he arrives at the restaurant where The Roommate is waiting.  

It’s a small restaurant with not much ambience.  The tables are plastic and the chairs don’t have any cushions.  The delicious smell of the food they are cooking is a stark contrast to the decor.  Isn’t there a saying that describes this perfectly?  

The Roommate is sitting at a table in the of the restaurant with another man.  As soon as The Roommate sees Oikawa, he waves him over to the table.  

As Oikawa approaches and returns the wallet, the man at the table sitting across from The Roommate looks up at him.  Spiky black hair.  Broad shoulders.  Strong brown eyes.  Oikawa’s heart skips a beat.  

“Oh, hey, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says.  

“H-hey,” Oikawa answers with a slight voice crack.  “How’s it going?”  

“Oh, you two know each other?” The Roommate asks.  

“Yeah, we have a couple of classes together,” Iwaizumi says.  

“Cool.  It’ll be less awkward this way.  Sit down, Oikawa.  Let’s eat.  We’ve been working on this project for hours.”  

Oikawa sits down across from Iwaizumi.  Oikawa is hyper aware of everything he’s doing.  His breathing patterns.  The position of his hands and legs.  Is his hair okay?  Whether or not Iwaizumi can see how fast his heart is beating.  If he’s blinking too much.  Can a person swallow too much?  

The waitress comes over after what seems like years, and asks them what they would like.  The Roommate orders a bowl of ramen, Iwaizumi orders soba, and Oikawa elects to order only tea.  Suddenly his appetite is entirely gone.  

“Tea?” The Roommate inquires.  “I thought you’d be hungry.”  

“Me too,” Oikawa mumbles.  

“Do you feel sick all of a sudden?” Iwaizumi asks.  

“A little,” Oikawa mutters.  “I think I just need a few minutes.”  Oikawa pulls out his phone and opens up Instagram.  He scrolls through and prays that one of them changes the subject.  

“Hey, Kuroo,” Iwaizumi starts.  “So what do you think we should do about the second paragraph.  You think we should reword it or no?”

Yeah.  Kuroo.  That was his name.  Ku-roo.   

Finally, Iwaizumi is distracted by a conversation.  Oikawa focuses on the way his mouth moves as it forms the words he speaks.  How his eyebrows slightly move with the inflections in his voice.  His deep voice rings through Oikawa’s head, but the words that come out of Iwaizumi’s mouth don’t mean anything to him.  They could be insults for all he cares; it doesn’t matter to him.  He could fall asleep to that voice.  

Oikawa’s trance is interrupted by a cup of tea being set down on the table.  He jumps slightly as the waitress pulls her hand away from the cup.  He manages a quick thank you before she walks off.  

“I think that plan sounds good,” Kuroo says.  “It would work way better if we reordered the paragraphs that way—it makes it flow better.  I’m glad I picked you as a partner,” he says with a small laugh.  

“Hey, I could say the same thing for you.  You have way more brains than me,” Iwaizumi returns.  

“No way.  You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”  

“But only one of you has the looks,” Oikawa blurts.  

_Did I say that outloud?!_

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow.  Kuroo snickers: “What an odd thing to say!”  

“I…did not mean to say that outloud,” Oikawa says, fighting through his embarrassment.  

“It’s fine…I guess?” Iwaizumi manages.  Kuroo is still giggling.  

_Honestly it’d probably be the best if I just died here,_ Oikawa thinks.  He puts his head down on the table, then pulls out his phone to distract himself.  

Kuroo resumes the conversation, as if nothing happened, and Oikawa can’t believe what just happened.  He wants desperately to leave, but he knows better than that.  No, he has to stick it out.  He needs to say more.  

“So…” Oikawa begins.  “What’s the project about?”

“We’re writing a lab report on an experiment we did.  Nothing too exciting or special.”  

Oikawa nods in response.  The conversation comes to a screeching halt.  Oikawa can’t stand the awkward silence.  

It is Iwaizumi that breaks the silence: “Oikawa, so how are you liking school so far?  You’ve seemed a little disinterested in the classes I’ve had with you.”

_If only you knew what went on inside my head,_ Oikawa thinks.  

“I’m liking it just fine.  None of my classes are particularly exciting yet.”  

The conversation is interrupted by the waitress bringing the food out.  It looks and smells delicious.  Iwaizumi and Kuroo quickly focus on eating their food, leaving Oikawa to his tea.  After a few minutes of nothing but chewing noises, Kuroo finds a new topic of conversation.  

“Did you guys hear about the concert they’re having in the auditorium in a couple of weeks?”  

“I’ve heard nothing,” Iwaizumi says.  

“Well, it’s gonna be a bunch of students, but it still seems like a fun way to meet some new people.  All I’m doing is hanging with people all I already know, and one of the big reasons I came to college is to branch out and meet some more people.  Would you guys want to go?”

“Sounds good to me,” Iwaizumi agrees.  

_Oh no,_ Oikawa thinks.  If he says no, he’ll come off as anti-social.  Oikawa wants to meet new people too, but he doesn’t know if he can handle being around Iwaizumi for that long.  Did Iwaizumi even want to be around _him_ for that long?  

“I don’t know…” Oikawa says, unconvinced.  

“Oh, come on,” Kuroo presses.  “You need to get out of that room.  I know you’re a sociable guy!  You send, like, 500 Snapchats a day!”  

“What does that have to do with my socializing ability?!  And I _do not_ take that many Snapchats!” Oikawa says, offended.    

“Fine, but I still think you should go!” Kuroo says, pressing Oikawa further with his eyes.  

Oikawa doesn’t have a way out of this one.  “Alright…” he relents.  

“Yay!” Kuroo says.  Iwaizumi is indifferent.  Oikawa feels as if he’s being eaten from the inside out.  

An entire day spent with Iwaizumi.  Oikawa doesn’t think he will be able to make it through.  He will die before the end of it.  End of story.  Full stop.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have to say that Oikawa is just so fun to write. I'm enjoying this so much. Also, a huge thanks to @snowapples for being an amazing editor. You make my writing better, and I thank you for that!


	5. You Must Think I'm an Idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe, sorry it's been a while! But I'm back! I'll be back to updating weekly again, because I know a fair amount of you want to see what happens!

After the boys finish eating, the waitress drops the bill off at the table.  Kuroo offers to pay for it all, but Iwaizumi refuses.  He pulls out some yen notes and begs Kuroo to use them.  After a while of polite arguing, Kuroo relents.  Oikawa observes the conversation, too embarrassed to let another word come out of his mouth.  Maybe he should have it sewn shut.  

The bill gets payed and they go their separate ways.  Iwaizumi waves goodbye as Kuroo and Oikawa head the other direction.  Oikawa is seemingly unaware that Kuroo is taking them in the wrong direction.  

It’s a crisp Spring night.  The sidewalks aren’t too crowded, for Tokyo at least, but they still bustle with the random conversations of couples walking up and down them.  The moon shines bright overhead, but the blinding city lights prevent it from making any sort of difference on the atmosphere surrounding.  The signs flash, sparkle, and flicker and random intervals through the streets.  A stray shadow here, a blinking shadow there.  A burnt out character on a shop sign.  A thousand different light points engulfing the sidewalks in multicolored lights.  It’s almost too much.  

Oikawa takes in deep breaths as he walks to calm himself.  Kuroo walks silently beside him, hands in his pockets, looking up at the skyline.  A scarf wraps around his neck and falls down his back, swaying as he walks.  

_ At least he has a bit of a fashion sense,  _ Oikawa thinks.  

Oikawa finally takes in his surroundings and realizes he’s never seen this part of Tokyo before.  He pulls out his phone to see where they are.  They are walking in the opposite direction of where they should be going.  

“You must think I’m an idiot,” Kuroo says, breaking the silence between them.  

“Well, you obviously have no sense of direction,” Oikawa returns.  

“Oh no, I know where we’re going,” Kuroo says.  “And it’s obviously not in the right direction”

Oikawa looks over at him puzzled.  What could he possibly be talking about?  

“No, you must think I’m an idiot because you don’t realize I notice the way you look at Iwaizumi.”

Oikawa’s heart stops.  Was it really that obvious?  Stupid!  How could he be so careless?

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Kuroo says, unknowingly interrupting Oikawa’s inner dialogue.  “I know plenty of guys who swing that way.”  Kuroo sneers behind his scarf.  “He is kinda cute.”

“SHUT UP, IDIOT!” Oikawa shouts as he slaps him on the back.  

Kuroo tilts his head back and cackles.  “It is way too easy to stir you up!” he says between laughs.  

Oikawa wears a pout for the next few blocks.  Kuroo doesn’t speak, letting Oikawa cool down.  

The restaurants along the street are full of people.  Enjoying their food, talking, laughing, socializing, romancing.  Doors constantly swinging open and closed, milling people through constantly.  Taxis are hailed by those who can afford them.  Some wear suits and dresses, others stick to denim and sweatshirts.  Tokyo is a mix of the rich, the poor, and not so wealthy.  College students, business executives, artists, big dreamers, hard workers, beggars, slackers.  They all somehow find their way here.  Funny how destiny works.  

After a while, Kuroo picks up the conversation again:  “So, why him?” he asks.  

“I’m not sure,” Oikawa returns, finally over his episode.  “There’s just…something.  I mean, he’s cute.  I like his face, his body, his eyes.  When he opened his mouth…I fell in love with that voice.  It’s only gotten stronger as I’ve gotten to know him more.”  Oikawa pauses, lost in thought.  “Why am I talking to you about this?  I don’t even know you.”  

“I’m your roommate,” Kuroo reminds him.  “You’re stuck with me until at least the end of the semester.  We’re gonna get to know each other pretty well by the time it’s over with.”  He pulls out his phone to look at his notifications.  “Damn group chat,” he says as he swipes away notifications.  “They’re so annoying.”  He slips his phone back into his pocket, then looks at Oikawa.  “Are you glad I brought up the show, then?” 

Oikawa looks at the ground.  “I think so,” he says.  “I want to get to know him better, but I just don’t know how.  It’s so much different than with girls.  It was always easy for me.”

“Sounds like you were quite the ladies man,” Kuroo teases.  “Now you’re a man-man.”

“I’m gonna throw up,” Oikawa responds.  “That was a terrible joke.”   

Kuroo smirks. “I thought it was funny.” 

“It wasn’t.”

“Was too.”

“Wasn’t.”

“Was too.”

“WASN’T!” 

“Was too.”

“ARGH!” Oikawa shouts.  People walking pastsed look at him.  Kuroo chuckles again.  

“So dramatic,” he says.  

` “I am _not_ dramatic.” 

“Whatever you say.”  

They finally turn around and head in the right direction.  The detour adds an extra fifteen minutes to their walk, and the temperature only gets cooler as time passes.  By the time they get back to the campus, Oikawa is shivering.  Even with his jacket he is horribly underdressed.  Kuroo seems to be fine.  

They climb the stairs to the dorm room and Kuroo unlocks the door.  Oikawa leaps onto his bed and lets out a deep sigh into his pillow.  

Kuroo immediately opens his computer and continues work on his chemistry project.  The keys clack vigorously as he types away, but Oikawa is too distracted by his own thoughts to be annoyed by it, like he always is.  

How is he supposed to progress with Iwaizumi?  He can’t even keep a conversation with him.  Iwaizumi doesn’t know that Oikawa likes him—as far as Oikawa knows.  Why is it so hard to talk to him?  

_ Curse this thing called love,  _ Oikawa thinks.  He rolls over and takes out his phone.  New Snapchats.  Maybe he does Snapchat too much.  

After responding (or ignoring) the Snapchats, he opens his messages and texts Hanamaki the events that transpired that night.  It takes a few moments for Hanamaki to respond.  

 

> **H** : you absolute imbecile.  you’re hopeless
> 
> **O** : you’re right
> 
> **H** : i know i’m right.  why are you so fucking awkward
> 
> **O** : I DON’T KNOW
> 
> **H** : you had girls drooling over you in high school.  they swarmed you.  you had a  _ haram.   _
> 
> **O** : shut up
> 
> **H** : you did
> 
> **H** : anyways, you need to stop being a pussy and actually start talking to this guy like a regular, not awkward human being.  you’ve already probably embarrassed yourself as much as a human being could possibly embarrass himself.  what do you have to lose?

 

That was the question.  What  _ does  _ he have to lose?  Dignity?  Hanamaki is right.  He does have nothing to lose.  That doesn’t stop Oikawa from overthinking things way too much.  

 

> **O** : but, it’s hard.  i can’t just walk up to him and start a conversation.  i think things just have to happen naturally
> 
> **H** : suit yourself.  i guess i’ve done all i can.  yo, is there any way i could get tickets to that concert, too?  i like music, and seeing a bunch of student bands perform could be fun.  i wanna meet new people too. 
> 
> **O** : i’ll talk to my roommate about it.  
> 
> **H** : thanks.  good luck with mr. biceps, idiot.  
> 
> **O** : shut up

 

Oikawa puts his phone down and stares at the ceiling.  He wonders if he can muster up the courage to initiate a conversation with Iwaizumi.  It seems like a longshot to him, but could be possible if he tried.  

He gets out of bed, changes into pajamas, then goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth.  All the while Iwaizumi is still on his mind.  He plays situations over and over in his head, trying to find the right icebreaker to get the conversation going.  He doesn’t find one that fits by the time he gets into bed.  

Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat again.  The nighttime routine.  Kuroo stays up on his laptop, but turns the brightness down low and makes an effort to make his typing softer.  He is definitely a night person, something that Oikawa is not.  Unless alcohol is involved.  

 

. . .

 

Oikawa has two classes with Iwaizumi the next morning, but makes no effort to start a conversation with him.  His eyes stay glued to the professor and his notes, save for the time when Iwaizumi drops his pencil, when he bends down and picks it up for him.  Iwaizumi thanks him, and a slight blush creeps across Oikawa’s face.  He’s hopeless.  

 

> **H** : did you talk to him 
> 
> **O** : no.  
> 
> **H** : my lord
> 
> **O** : im sorry
> 
> **H** : try again tomorrow
> 
> **O** : ‘kay

 

It doesn’t happen the next day either.  Or for the rest of the week.  

 

> **H** : i’m giving up on you
> 
> **O** : it’s probably for the best
> 
> **H** : rest in peace.  
> 
> **O** : bury me with my volleyball.  and my phone.  
> 
> **H** : m’kay.  hey i’m coming over tomorrow.  
> 
> **O** : why?
> 
> **H** : i wanna meet your roommate
> 
> **O** : no you don’t
> 
> **H:** why not?
> 
> **O** : cause he’s a weirdo
> 
> **H** : no, you’re the weirdo and he’s normal in comparison, so he seems weird to you.  
> 
> **O** : why are you my friend?
> 
> **H** : dunno.  

 

Oikawa lays back down on his bed and drops his phone on the floor.  Kuroo isn’t there, so he is left to his own thoughts.  They race around his mind and carry him away from the room.  He gets lost in them, daydreaming.  Of what could be.  Of what might be.  Of what will be.  Nothing is for certain, but he is certain that he’ll be with Iwaizumi.  In time.  In due time.  


	6. Saturday

Oikawa wakes up to the sound of thunder and heavy rain drops pelting his window.  Judging by the light it’s early morning, but it could be the thick dark clouds covering the sky making things much darker than they should be.  Rolling on his side, he looks at Kuroo’s bed and finds him fast asleep—his chest slowly rising and falling in a steady rhythm.  

He checks the time on his phone.  It’s before eight in the morning.  Oikawa wears a disgusted expression as he looks at the time, gravely disappointed that he is up so early on a Saturday.  Nevertheless, he was awake, and trying to fall asleep now with the storm rolling in would be futile.  He elects to get up and get ready for the day a little early before everyone else in the dorm wakes up.  Having the showers to himself will be a blessing.  

Exactly as he thought, the showers are empty when he arrives with a stack of clothes and toiletries in hand.  He takes a long, hot shower and washes his face thoroughly.  After he dries himself, he dresses, applies cologne, and styles his hair.  

Kuroo is still asleep when Oikawa returns, so he is cautious to not disturb his slumber.  He quietly sits down at his desk and opens his laptop, careful to keep any typing at a low volume.  

He browses social media mindlessly, just wanting to waste some time until breakfast, which isn’t particularly early on campus; the cafeteria doesn’t open until nine o’clock.  His feed is basically barren, nothing but the usual subtweets and random retweets from various people.  Memes.  The usual.  

Kuroo stirs in his bed and finally arises.  His hair is just as messy as usual, but isn’t in the usual style.   Maybe he actually does style his hair.  Oikawa greets him as he walks over to his computer and opens it up.  

“You’re up early,” Kuroo responds.  

“No shit,” Oikawa returns.  “That damn rainstorm woke me up this morning.  I’ve been up since dawn.”  

Kuroo puts on his glasses and runs his hands through his hair.  He then types his password into his laptop and checks his email.   He responds to a few, checks social media, then shuts it.  He turns to Oikawa and offers to grab breakfast with him, which Oikawa quickly accepts.  Oikawa hates eating alone.  

They both elect to eat at the cafeteria as they both don’t want to walk too far.  They find a table and set their stuff on some chairs to claim their spot.  Oikawa returns with two packages of milk bread, while Kuroo returns with a can of coffee and a donut.  They eat in silence for a few minutes until Kuroo breaks it:

“So, when are you gonna ask Iwaizumi out?”

Oikawa chokes on his milk bread, causing Kuroo to burst out laughing.  Oikawa throws his second package of milk bread at him in retaliation.  It takes a few seconds for him to recover from the embarrassment.  

“Excuse me?” Oikawa manages.  

“Do you think I’m really that stupid?” Kuroo says with a chuckle.  “Anybody with an IQ above 20 could see that you’re head over heels for him.  You aren’t an idiot, but the things you were saying the other night were. . .well, idiotic.”

“Yeah…” Oikawa reluctantly agrees.  “I can’t even talk to him normally.”  

“How hopeless can you be?” Kuroo says before taking a sip of his coffee.  “I’ve never met anyone that awkward around a crush.”  

Oikawa sets his head on top of his folded arms and wears a pout.  “Go ahead, continue to tear me apart.”  

“Would it kill you to ask for some advice?”

“What do you know about talking to guys?”

“Not much, I’ve never dated one.”   

“Then why should I listen to you?”

“Because you’re utterly hopeless around him.” 

Oikawa can’t refute that fact; he  _ is  _ utterly hopeless around Iwaizumi.  Still, he doesn’t like to be told how he should approach a relationship, and honestly doesn’t think that Kuroo has any right to tell right from wrong.  

“I think I can figure it out myself,” Oikawa says.  He grabs the package of milk bread he threw at Kuroo and opens it up, pulling it apart and putting it into his mouth piece by piece.  

“Whatever you say,” Kuroo answers.  He lifts his arms over his head and lets out a yawn as he stretches.  The can in his hand lets out a hollow clunk as he sets it down on the table.  

“My friend, Hanamaki, is coming over today.  He wants to meet you, apparently,” Oikawa says as he finishes his last bites.  

“Really,” Kuroo returns.  “I don’t really have anything going on today.  I’d be happy to hang out with you guys.”  

“I have no idea why he wants to meet you so badly,” Oikawa states, genuinely puzzled.  “Maybe it’s because the concept of a roommate is foreign to him.”  

“Does he live by himself?”

“Yep.  Good ol’ rich parents for you.  They pay for his apartment.”

“Must be nice,” Kuroo mumbles.  

“Hey!  What’s that supposed to mean?!” Oikawa exclaims, offended.  

“Kidding,” Kuroo says with his trademark sneer.  “He probably just wants to see you.  I don’t know.  Does it really matter?  Why can’t we all be friends?”  

“Oh, don’t take it like that,” Oikawa says.  “He just seemed pretty adamant to meet you for some reason.  Makki has always been sort of a weirdo.”  

“Something tells me that he would say the same for you.”  

“I’m leaving.” 

 

**. . .**

 

> H: yo, i’m almost there
> 
> O: okay, i’m just chilling in my room.  you know which one it is right?
> 
> H: uh, no
> 
> O:  fifth floor, hang a left when u get off the stairs, it’s the third door on the left
> 
> H: cool

 

Hanamaki arrives ten minutes later, almost soaking wet from the unrelenting rain outside.  

“Are you kidding me?  Have you ever heard of an umbrella?” Oikawa scolds.  

“You think a fucking eighteen-year-old who lives alone and buys his own things owns an umbrella?” 

“Hey, watch your language, young man,” Kuroo says, still looking at his computer.  

“Is that your roommate?” Hanamaki asks.  

“Sure is.”  

Kuroo spins around in his chair, then stands up.  “I’m Kuroo, it’s very nice to meet you.”

“Charmed,” Hanamaki returns, sensing Kuroo’s humor.  He takes off his sopping jacket and hangs it on the handle of Oikawa’s closet.  “I’m probably gonna have to use a dryer before I leave.”  

They commence with small talk.  Generic conversation so that Hanamaki can gauge Kuroo’s sense of humor—what he likes, what he doesn’t like, what he likes to do, what classes he’s taking, etc.  The two get more familiar with each other as time goes on, and soon Kuroo and Hanamaki are hitting it off.  Oikawa joins in on the banter as well.  Small talk turns into gossip, which in turn turns into deeper conversation.  Kuroo offers to buy some beer, but Hanamaki refuses and leaves to buy some himself.  

“Don’t get too wet,” Kuroo calls as Hanamaki closes the door.  Hanamaki gives a grunt in response.  

“Nice guy,” Kuroo says to Oikawa.  

Oikawa nods.  “I’ve known him since middle school.  We were on the same volleyball team.”  

“Volleyball, huh?  I gave that up after high school.  I’m focusing on school.  I like volleyball, but I’m not sure I want to go through the commitment of being on a team in college.  I’d like to branch out a little bit more.  

“I love it too much to quit,” Oikawa adds.  “It’s too addicting.  I’m addicted to the feeling of winning.”  

“It is a nice feeling,” Kuroo agrees.  “I’ll have to practice with you sometime.  I haven’t spiked a ball in a while.”  

The two of them reminisce about their years of volleyball in school.  They exchange stories, some funny, some sad, some triumphant.  Oikawa never thought that he would get this close to his roommate, but he has to admit that it’s nice being able to talk with him like this.   

Some time passes and the door to their dorm opens, and Hanamaki steps inside, a case of beer in hand.  

“I brought a friend,” he says, holding the door open for the stranger.  

“Oh, hey, Iwaizumi,” Kuroo says.  

_ Fuck.   _ That’s all that runs through Oikawa’s mind.  

“T’sup,” Iwaizumi says.  “Sorry to intrude.”  

“Nah man, you’re fine,” Kuroo says.  “I actually should have asked you if you wanted to come over.  

“Yeah I was just walking down the hallway and he—” Hanamaki gestures to Iwaizumi, “—was just leaving his room to get some food.  He saw me head towards your room and asked what was going on, so I told him that we were chilling and told him he could join if he wanted.  So, here we are.”  

Oikawa’s stare could burn a hole through Hanamaki’s body.  He mouths the words, “I’m gonna fucking kill you” to Hanamaki.  He returns a blank faced peace sign.  

Hanamaki places the pack of beer in the middle of their circle and opens up the package.  Each of them takes one and cracks it open almost simultaneously.  

“Beer counts as lunch, right?” Iwaizumi says after he takes a swig.  He gets some laughs in response.  

“I’m assuming you know these guys?” Hanamaki asks Iwaizumi.  

“Yeah, I know both of them.  I probably wouldn’t be too keen to drink with total strangers.”  

“That’s cool.  I guess that’s where you and I differ; I’m completely okay with drinking with strangers.”  

Oikawa tunes out of the conversation and focuses on the beer he’s drinking.  It’s disgusting; he hates beer, but he keeps on drinking hoping that it will somehow level his mood.  Anger, embarrassment, and anxiety float around in his mind.  Maybe a wave of alcohol will wash it all away.  Any rational mind would know that it doesn’t work like that, but it’s safe to say that Oikawa’s mind is not working rationally right now.  

He retreats back into his own mind, something that he does occasionally when the situation is right.  Boredom, embarrassment, and tiredness can all contribute to it.  He isn’t really thinking about anything.  He focuses on breathing and the lukewarm gulps of beer that invade his tongue and throat.  He doesn’t realize how long he’s been drifting until he hears his name.  

“Oikawa,” a low, gruff voice calls out.  

“Yeah?” Oikawa answers, snapping out of it.  

“You okay?” Iwaizumi asks, concerned.  

“I’m. . . all good,” he manages.  “Thanks.”  

“No problem,” Iwaizumi says, trying to pierce through the conversation Kuroo and Hanamaki are currently having.  Something about music.  “You need another one?”

Oikawa looks at the almost empty can in his hand.  “You know, I don’t even like beer.  I don’t know why I’m drinking it.”  

“Beer’s okay.  I honestly prefer liquor.  Or mixed drinks.”  

“I’d have to agree with you on that.  I’m gonna have another beer anyways.”  

“Go for it, man.”  

Oikawa grabs another beer and cracks it open.  Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe he had an epiphany while he was daydreaming, but almost all his inhibitions about talking to Iwaizumi are gone.  He is here now, trapped in a way, in his own room.  Good friends around, alcohol, good times.  What was he afraid of?  Iwaizumi is right in front of him.  Just talk.  Nothing could be more embarrassing than what happened the week before.  

“You know what,” Oikawa says finally.  “Truthfully I’ve been kind of wary to talk to you.”  

“Really?” Iwaizumi responds.  

“Yeah.”  Oikawa sips his beer.  “Don’t know why.” 

“You’re quiet in class.  It’d be nice to have someone to chat with for a change.” 

“Yeah.  I like to focus on the lecture.  

“Mmhm.  I don’t ever see you writing anything in your notebook.”  

“I guess you got me there.”    

“So, what’s your story.  What are you doing here?”  

“I don’t really wanna talk about me right now.  Let’s talk about you.”  

 

**. . .**

 

> O: i hate you so much
> 
> H: you’ll thank me later
> 
> O: why would you do that to me.  i thought i was gonna throw up sitting there
> 
> H: you guys started talking.  that’s all i wanted.  and hey, look what happened.  you started talking
> 
> O: i hope your clothes get ruined in the rain
> 
> H: they kind of already are, but thanks anyway.  
> 
> H: hey, that was fun.  we should do stuff like that more often.  i like that kuroo guy.  he’s a cool dude.  wicked smart as it turns out.
> 
> O: yeah he is.  
> 
> H: how’d your conversation with biceps go?  
> 
> O: why are you calling him that
> 
> H: uhm, biceps? he has big fucking biceps
> 
> O: you know his name.  you know what, nevermind.  it went fine.  he’s an undeclared student.  he’s paying for his own schooling.  he likes watching movies and other tv shows in his free time.  he likes music a lot.  although, his tastes don’t really align with mine.  he’s super nice and humble and really nice to talk to.  i can’t believe i wAS ACTUALLY TALKING TO HIM??!
> 
> H: yep, now it’s hitting you.  you talked to him for hours.  you were pretty drunk for a while there.  he left at the height of your drunkenness.
> 
> O: are you kidding me
> 
> H: nope
> 
> O: i hate myself
> 
> H: nah he was cool about it.  he told me that he thinks you’re cool.  he’d be down to hang out with us some more. 
> 
> O: REALLY? SO I DIDNT SCARE HIM OFF?
> 
> H: nope!  amazing, right?!
> 
> O: buzz off

 

Oikawa sets his phone down on his nightstand and looks outside.  The rain has stopped, but some droplets still streak down the window.  The city lights cast a dull yellow glow on the clouds overhead, making it seem like the city is trapped in a dome of artificial sunlight.  It’s bright enough for Oikawa to see figures walking on the street below, some walked confidently, normally, others not so much.  A few stumbled.  It was Saturday night after all.  

Oikawa stares at the pile of crushed aluminum cans sitting in the middle of the room.  It occurs to him that they should probably clean those up. 

He taps Kuroo on the shoulder and gestures to the pile of cans.  Kuroo gives a silent nod and helps him pick them up and carry them to the recycling bin at the end of the hall.  

“That was fun,” Kuroo says as he drops his share of cans into the bin.  “Us four should hang out more often.”  

Oikawa gives a nod in agreement.  He’s not entirely sure how the night went for him.  There is a fuzzy blob clouding his memory for the back half of it.  Hopefully he didn’t get  _ too  _ drunk.  He feels somewhat ashamed that he finally mustered the courage to have an actual conversation with Iwaizumi, but can’t remember the part that was probably the most important.  Hopefully he didn’t scare him off.  He doesn’t quite believe what Hanamaki said, but if it were true, it would make Oikawa quite happy.   

The two of them return to the dorm.  Oikawa changes into his pajamas and prepares for bed.  Kuroo sits back down at his laptop, a can of coffee by his side, and continues whatever it is that he does on his laptop.  Oikawa doesn’t quite know what he does, but it’s a lot of typing and lots of opening of new windows.  

Oikawa turns his bedside lamp off and Kuroo turns the brightness down on his laptop.  Oikawa pulls out his phone, opens Instagram, then looks up Iwaizumi’s profile.  For the first time, he doesn’t look at the pictures posted there in hopeless longing.  Now, he sees them as proof that what he is experiencing is real.  The man on that screen could really be his, as long as he wants him enough, and as long as Iwaizumi wants him back. 


	7. Back into the Swing of Things

Oikawa wakes up to a headache and a dry mouth.  He probably should have drank more water before he finally went to bed, but he was too preoccupied with looking through Iwaizumi’s Instagram to practice self care.  In fact, Oikawa fell asleep looking at the photos, leaving his phone screen on all night until it went dead.  No way to look at the time now.  What day was it again?  

He slowly gets out of bed and gives a groggy yawn.  Kuroo is still sleeping, naturally.  He always sleeps later than Oikawa.  He walks over to his computer, opens it, and checks the time.  It’s a little after ten o’clock, meaning that Oikawa only got five or six hours of sleep.  He can’t quite remember when he fell asleep.  

He plugs in his phone and leaves it to charge while he goes to the bathroom for his morning routine.  Oikawa doesn’t think about the night before; mostly due to the fact that he just can’t remember much about what happened.  He still can’t believe that he even mustered the courage to have a conversation with Iwaizumi, but it wasn’t like he had a choice.  Hanamaki made sure that he was cornered, so that he would  _ have  _ to talk with Iwaizumi.  Bastard.  

Kuroo is stirring when Oikawa returns to the room.  Oikawa greets him, but only receives a tired grunt in return.  

“Rough morning, Sunshine?” Oikawa teases.  

“How the hell are you up this early,” Kuroo says, rubbing his eyes.  

“I just can’t sleep late, I guess.”  

“I should’ve drank more water last night.  I’m so dehydrated.”  

“Let’s head down to the cafeteria and get some caffeine in us.”

“Sounds fantastic.”  

Kuroo throws some sweatpants and a hoodie on before they leave for the cafeteria.  He walks with the hood up, his eyes barely staying open as they walk through the bright, late-morning sun.  It’s warmer than normal, which makes Oikawa realize that it’s almost May.  Spring is moving faster than he thought. 

“Rough morning, huh?” a classmate of Kuroo’s teases as he walks past.  Kuroo doesn’t give a response.  Oikawa can’t help but giggle.  

They reach the cafeteria and both get coffee.  Kuroo goes with straight coffee, two cans to be exact.  Oikawa settles for his usual breakfast.  Kuroo quickly downs his two cans of coffee, while Oikawa takes his time eating his breakfast.  

They can only manage light conversation through their grogginess.  They exchange few words,  more time is spent listening to the other conversations that can be made out through hum of the crowd. 

Slowly the caffeine kicks in, but the headaches still remain.  Both of them buy bottles of water and down them quickly as they walk back to their room.  

The rest of the day is filled with as few words as the morning.  Assignments need to be finished, quizzes studied for, projects worked on.  Oikawa checks his phone periodically for any messages—from Hanamaki, from Iwaizumi, from anyone really.  Once in awhile Kuroo will ask Oikawa a question, which will prompt a light conversation.  The conversations  don’t go anywhere, however.  Before they know it, the sun sets, and it is almost time for them to go to bed.  Oikawa can’t believe how fast time goes by.  Too fast.  

Oikawa gets ready for bed, amazed at how little he accomplished that day.  Too much social media and random distractions that kept him from really concentrating on his work.  Oh well.  He guesses that he can finish the important work during lecture tomorrow.  Hopefully.  

Suddenly Oikawa’s phone vibrates.  He takes it out of his pocket and unlocks it to reveal the notification.  

 

> **Iwaizumi:** see you tomorrow

 

_ Huh?  _ Oikawa thinks.   _ When did I get Iwaizumi’s number? _

 

> **O:** yeah.  see you tomorrow

 

Oikawa does not remember ever asking Iwaizumi for his number.  It must have happened while he was drunk.  Idiot.  Why did he have to drink so much last night?  

Kuroo notices the way Oikawa is looking at his phone. “What’s up?” he asks.  

“Oh, nothing,” Oikawa responds.  “Just a weird number sending me a text.”  

“Ah yeah, I hate that.”  

Oikawa sets his phone back down on his bedside table and returns to his computer to finish his task.  Once he does, he shuts it and climbs into bed.  He browses the internet for bit until he gets tired, then finally puts his phone down to attempt to doze off.  

The scenes he can remember of his conversation with Iwaizumi play in his head like a film projected on a screen.  He plays out the conversations over and over, analyzing what they talked about, wishing he had said something else, or done something else.  He doesn’t remember every word that came out of his mouth, but he does remember almost every word that Iwaizumi uttered.  They were ingrained into his mind.  Like his own gospel.  His own words to live by.  The timbre of Iwaizumi’s voice rings around in his mind, reverberating every which way.  There is nothing like it.  Nothing better.  

Stray thoughts turn into fantasies, and these fantasies play in his mind more vividly than any film Oikawa could ever watch.  Skin on skin.  Lips on lips.  Warm breath on his neck.  Getting closer, closer, ever closer.  Until . . .until…  

 The shrill sound of Oikawa’s alarm rips him from his internal fantasies.  For a second he doesn’t know where he is, still thinking that he’s in another place.  A better place.  

Eventually he snaps out of it, albeit reluctantly.  With disappointment, he goes through his typical morning routine, wishing that he could go back to the little fantasy world he created for himself in his sleep.  He desperately tries to recall the scenes he dreamt about, but he can’t remember exactly what transpired, only the feelings.  He returns to the dorm room with a slight smile on his face, clinging on to the lingering emotions from his dreams.  

“I’ve never seen you this giddy on a Monday morning,” Kuroo says from his bed.  His first class doesn’t start for another couple of hours, but Oikawa’s alarms always wake him up well before he would need to otherwise.  

Oikawa continues unfaltered, seemingly on autopilot.  Kuroo is perplexed by his sudden change in mood.  He seemed gloomy, the night before—depressed, even.  Kuroo’s attempts at conversation had been quickly shot down by one word answers, or even disinterested grunts.  

“What’s with you today?” Kuroo asks again.  

“Nothing.  Nothing at all.”  

Kuroo gives a shrug and goes back to looking at his phone.  

“Do you ever fix your hair?” Oikawa asks.  

“Nope.  This is my style, dude,” he returns in a somewhat sarcastic tone.  

“Your style is never fixing your hair?”

“Yep.  If you had my hair you’d understand.”  

“I guess I’ll take your word for it.”  

Oikawa packs his bag and leaves for his first class.  The temperature is even warmer than the day before, and Oikawa realizes that he is horribly overdressed.  As he nears his destination, he can feel himself start to sweat.  It’s a good thing he keeps an extra bottle of cologne in his bag.  He stops in the bathroom before he gets to class and splashes some on his neck.  

He is one of the first ones to class, as usual.  It seems that college students don’t like to get to class early on Mondays.  Oikawa finds his usual seat and sets his bag down.  Other students gradually trickle in.  Oikawa pulls out his notes and prepares for the lecture. About five minutes before the lecture is set to start, the bulk of the class shows up.  Most enter with zombie-like gaits with eye bags to match.  

Suddenly a bag is set down beside Oikawa and he turns to see Iwaizumi setting his things out.  He begins a greeting but is met instead by a kiss on the cheek.  Iwaizumi ruffles his hair as he sits down and pulls his things out.  A bright red blush emerges across Oikawa’s face.

_ What the fuck?!  WHAT.  THE.  FUCK.   _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the short update, but you're gonna get the next chapter VERY soon. I wanted to give you all a nice little cliffhanger before the action REALLY starts :)


	8. What happened?

Oikawa can hardly concentrate on the lecture.  He feels the spot on his cheek where Iwaizumi laid his kiss. Is this a dream?  He sneaks glances at Iwaizumi throughout the lecture, trying to find any sort of clue about what just transpired.  

_What happened on Saturday?_ Oikawa thinks.   _Was I really that drunk?  How can I not remember something like that?  How?!_

After an hour or so, the lecture ends, and impatient students gather their things quickly and depart.  Oikawa closes his notebook—which he didn’t write in at all during the lecture—then stuffs it in his bag.  He looks over at Iwaizumi in disbelief, not believing that any of this is actually happening.  

Iwaizumi stuffs the last of his things into his backpack, then slings it over his shoulder and turns to look at Oikawa.  When their eyes meet, Iwaizumi immediately frowns.  

“What’s the matter?” he asks.  

Oikawa is taken aback.  “Nothing.  Nothing's the matter.  What makes you say that?”

“Your face is super red.”

Oikawa quickly feels his cheek and finds that it might as well be on fire.  He feels the tingling of the blood flowing through his face, increasing its temperature and turning his visage into something that resembled a near ripe strawberry.  

“Everything’s fine,” Oikawa says, not very convincingly.

“Whatever you say,” Iwaizumi says reluctantly.  “Shall we walk to our next class?”  

“Yeah.  Yeah, let’s go.”  

They exit the lecture hall together and start towards their next class, exchanging no words on the way.  Oikawa is still trying to decipher what might have happened on that Saturday night.  As he thinks about it more and more, it occurs to him that the two of them might actually. . . be dating.  

Oikawa sneaks another glance at Iwaizumi, but this time Iwaizumi notices and meets his gaze.  

“You know you don’t have to sneak glances if we’re dating,” Iwaizumi declares.  

Oikawa visibly flinches.  Dating?  That can’t be.  No way.  There’s absolutely no way.  

Before he can say anything back, they reach the classroom and sit down just moments before the lecture starts.  To Oikawa, it seems like it will never end once it starts; his thoughts stretch minutes into hours.  He has to inquire further.  He has to know what happened, or else it will drive him crazy.  

Finally the lecture ends, and again the impatient students rush to gather their things and leave as soon as possible.  Soon Oikawa is sitting alone in the classroom next to Iwaizumi, who has already gathered his things and is ready to go.  Even the professor is gone.  

Iwaizumi sets his bag down on the ground and kneels, resting his hands on his knees.  He’s so tall that even when kneeling his eyes are level with Oikawa’s while he’s sitting in his chair.  

“What’s wrong,” Iwaizumi says firmly.  

“I said nothing is wrong.”  

“Why are you lying to me?”  Iwaizumi doesn’t sound disappointed, or angry.  His delivery is like an honest question, much like one you would ask a professor.  Why is this like this?  Why does this work like this?  It’s curiosity, genuine curiosity.  Matter of factness.  

Oikawa doesn’t know why he can’t tell him the truth.  Some unknown force is stopping him.  Is it embarrassment?  Is he embarrassed that he can’t remember the very moment that they agreed that they were hooking up?  This situation feels like a dream to Oikawa, something that could only happen to him in a fantasy.  How could he fall into a relationship and not know it?  How is that even remotely possible?  

“This feels like a dream,” Oikawa manages.  “I honestly can’t believe any of this is happening.”  

“I agree,” Iwaizumi adds.  Oikawa looks at him, confused.  “I can’t believe I would actually date someone as hopeless as you.”

Oikawa doesn’t have time to react before Iwaizumi’s lips meet his.  It takes a moment for Oikawa to accept the kiss, but once he does, he doesn’t ever want to let go.  Tongues meet and fight for dominance, each one craving more and more touch.  Then Iwaizumi backs off, pausing to look at Oikawa’s expression.  

“That was good,” Iwaizumi says, breaking their comfortable silence.  

“Yeah.  That _was_ good.”  

Oikawa wipes his mouth and collects his things.  His first kiss with a boy. . .well, at least the first one he can remember.  Who knows what happened on that Saturday night.  

They walk out of the classroom together and share a goodbye kiss before they must go their separate ways.

“I didn’t know boy’s mouths were supposed to taste like coffee,” Oikawa remarks.

“Screw you,” Iwaizumi returns.  

“Is that not the goal?”  

 

**. . .**

 

 

> **O** : HANAMAKI ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE
> 
> **H** : what the hell are you so excited about
> 
> **O** : you are not gonna believe what happened to me today
> 
> **H** : did you finally find out that you are, in fact, a rather large imbecile
> 
> **O** : iwaizumi kissed me.  
> 
> **H** : wait, he what?
> 
> **O** : k-kissed. . . me
> 
> **O** : wait, i just read what you said, and fuck you.
> 
> **H** : what the hell?
> 
> **O** : I KNOW
> 
> **H** : you two are dating?  wow, that setup worked better than expected…
> 
> **O** : APPARENTLY
> 
> **H** : what do you mean apparently
> 
> **O** : i. . . don’t remember anything from saturday night
> 
> **H** : …
> 
> **O** : maki…
> 
> **O** : MAKI
> 
> **O** : OH GOD PLEASE TALK TO ME
> 
> **O** : I’M FREAKING OUT
> 
> **H** : i honestly can’t believe you sometimes
> 
> **O** : WHAT
> 
> **H** : how do you not remEMBER HOOKING UP WITH THE GUY YOU’VE BEEN CRUSHING ON FOR WEEKS
> 
> **O** : IDK BUT STOP SCREAMING AT ME
> 
> **H** : YOU’RE THE ONE TYPING IN ALL CAPS!!!!
> 
> **O** : okay you’re right but honestly your shouting is not helping the conversation
> 
> **H** : so what the heck happened.  did he, like, hold your hand or something and _that’s_ when you found out?
> 
> **O** : no… he kissed me.  that’s when i found out.  
> 
> **H** : man… what a wake up call
> 
> **O** : right
> 
> **H** : well, congrats man.  when are you gonna get to the boning?  
> 
> **O** : MAKI
> 
> **H** : we all know that’s what you were thinking about
> 
> **O** : bye
> 
> **H** : >:3c

 

Oikawa sets his phone down on his nightstand. He still can’t quite believe what had transpired that day.  It was just a blur.  A blur of raw emotion and confusion.  He sits in his bed looking at the ceiling and plays the day’s events over and over in his head.  It was like a TV show.  The perfect TV show.  

Kuroo opens the door to the dorm and throws something onto Oikawa’s body.  Oikawa lets out a small exaggerated yelp and sits up to look at what Kuroo threw at him.  

“Oh, man, that’s really this weekend?” Oikawa says as he looks at the tickets in his hand.  

“Yep.  Time flies doesn’t it?  Oh, you owe me twenty bucks for those tickets.”  

“Wow, thanks.”  

“You are so very welcome.”  

“Wait, why are there two tickets here?”  

“So you can bring Iwaizumi.  I figured it would be a good opportunity for a date.”  

“Do I owe you money for that one too?”

“Nope.  He already paid for his.  He thinks I’m keeping his for him,” Kuroo says with a wink.

“Thanks,” Oikawa says.  He folds up the tickets and sticks them in his billfold.  Kuroo holds a thumbs up as his way of saying ‘you’re welcome.’  Oikawa remembers that Hanamaki was interested in attending the concert as well, so he sends him a text reminding him to try and purchase a ticket.  

“Are you excited for this weekend?” Oikawa asks.  

“Yeah.  I’m kind of excited to see if anyone on this campus actually has any talent.  I’ve heard there are a few established bands here.  It’ll be cool to hear what they sound like.”

“Is that so?  Sounds cool to me.  I think it’ll just be cool to hang out with you guys.”  

“Likewise.  So, how are things going with Iwaizumi?” Kuroo asks as he takes a swig of his energy drink.

“We’re dating.”

Kuroo chokes on his drink.  “W-what?”

“We’re dating.  D-A-T-I-N-G.”

“Really?  That’s awesome?  So that’s what happened when you guys left.”  

Oikawa is surprised at the revelation.  “We left?”

“Yeah.  For like an hour.  You were pretty drunk.  You don’t remember?”

“Not a thing.”  

“Huh.  Well, congrats dude.  You got the guy you were looking for.  Score.”  

Oikawa laughs and thanks him.  Kuroo is really turning out to be a great roommate and friend.  It is really comforting having someone so supportive.  Oikawa knows that not everyone will approve of this relationship…how could they?

Oikawa lays back down on his bed and picks up his phone from his nightstand.  He opens up the messages, opens the conversation with Iwaizumi, and clicks the text box.  This will be the first time ever that he will initiate a conversation with him…

His heartbeat gets faster even from this seemingly small task.  It still doesn’t feel like they are dating.  The whole thing still doesn’t feel real to Oikawa.  It still feels like a fantasy constructed in Oikawa’s mind; an abstract thought that could never, ever, be tangible.  Still, it _was_ real.  No matter how much Oikawa could think it wasn’t; the fact is, it’s as real and tangible as the phone he is using to try sending Iwaizumi a simple message.  

 

 

> **O** :  Remember, we have that concert to go to this weekend.  
> 
> **I** : oh cool.  i almost forgot.  thanks for the reminder.  
> 
> **O** : No problem!  So how was the rest of your day?
> 
> **I** : kinda boring.  the morning is definitely better than the afternoon.  
> 
> **O** : Oh yeah?  Any particular reason?

 

Oikawa flirting?  Madness.  

 

 

> **I** : i think you know, dork.  

 

Dork.  Oh gosh.  Who knew that childish insult could be so hot.  

 

>  
> 
> **O** : :P
> 
> **I** : get that tongue back in there
> 
> **O:** Make me!  
> 
> **I** : you know i live right across the hall from you right? i could come over there
> 
> **O** : I doubt you actually would.  Also why am I typing so formally?  
> 
> **I** : you tell me.  it’s almost like we’re not dating.  
> 
> **O** : you’re right.  i’ll stop.  
> 
> **I** : good.  

 

Once Oikawa gets going, he finds it so incredibly easy to talk to Iwaizumi.  He hates himself for being so afraid to be the one to start a conversation, but there was always some force that overwhelmed, causing him to be reluctant to do so.  It doesn’t make sense, but that is how it always works.  

 

 

> **I** : you should go to bed.  it’s late.  
> 
> **O** : sleep is for the weak.  
> 
> **I** : you are the weak.  
> 
> **O** : wow.  care to put that to the test?  
> 
> **I** : don’t have to.  go to sleep.  
> 
> **O** : yes, mother.  
> 
> **I** : please don’t do that.  

 

It feels right to be talking to Iwaizumi like this.  It feels like home.  Nothing is more comforting to Oikawa in this moment than sharing a conversation with the one he loves.  What could be better?  

All Oikawa has to do is make it through the week, then he can finally have a weekend to spend with Iwaizumi.  An entire weekend.  Just the thought of it was enough to make Oikawa blush under his covers.


	9. Concert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so sorry about the long delay on this chapter. Just got moved into college and things got hectic, but I am back! 
> 
> Also, small warning. This chapter and subsequent ones can/will contain homophobic language. I've tagged it just in case, but I wanted to warn you here as well. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! It was a lot of fun to write (minus the homophobic parts)!

The rest of the week goes off without a hitch.  Oikawa attends all of his lectures and tries his hardest to pay attention to the academic portion and not get distracted by the beauty sitting next him.  It’s quite the challenge.

The two of them exchange texts almost every night before they sleep.  Typical conversations include: small talk, a joke, playful bickering, empty threats.  Nothing gets too deep.  Oikawa likes that in a way—he feels like he’s almost always stuck in his own head; over analyzing everything that happens to him.  It’s exhausting.  Just having someone to have a good time with is a welcome change.  A change he’s been looking for, for quite some time.  

Oikawa wakes up for class every morning and heads towards the lecture hall. Iwaizumi spots him, and they walk towards each other and exchange a peck of a morning kiss.  They get stares.  They don’t care in the slightest.  

They share a lot of the day with each other, but not too much.  They sometimes study together—although these study sessions aren’t the most productive things in the world when flirty interruptions happen quite frequently.  Foot touches, hair touches, hand holds, and stares are the common culprits.  The kind of stuff that makes PDA haters’ eyes roll.  

Before they know it, Friday rolls around and it’s time for the concert.  Oikawa hasn’t been to too many of them and is hung up on what to wear.  He doesn’t even know what kind of bands are going to play.  Rock?  Blues?  Rap?  To Oikawa, as someone who would never wear a nice sweater and undershirt to a punk concert, this dictates what he wears.  

Oikawa stands with his closet door open, repeatedly looking through the shirts and pants to try and make a decision.  Nothing appeals to him, so he practically has to force himself to decide.  He finally decides on a graphic tee and a dark pair of jeans.  He figures it would fit the widest range of music genres possible.  

The group planned to leave at around seven o’clock, and Oikawa’s phone read ten-to-seven when he picked it up off his nightstand.  Kuroo already left to meet some other friends, leaving Oikawa and Iwaizumi to walk together.  Oikawa appreciates Kuroo’s efforts to give them space, but he thinks he might be trying a little too hard.  

Oikawa’s phone screen flashes a full bar as he takes it off the charger.  He grabs his keys and opens the door to his room to find Iwaizumi doing the same.  They both look up and smile at each other before they proceed to lock their own doors.  

“You ready?” Iwaizumi asks, turning around.  He sounds excited.  

“So ready,” Oikawa returns as he sticks his key into the lock and twists.  

Iwaizumi sticks an arm around Oikawa’s shoulder as they walk down the hall.  Two men turn the corner ahead causing Iwaizumi to squeeze closer to Oikawa as they walk, making more room for them to pass.  Oikawa’s cheeks feel warm.  

_ How lame,  _ he thinks.   _ I can’t even handle a shoulder touch.   _

As the two men pass, the one that leads shoots them both a raised eyebrow.  Oikawa pretends he doesn’t notice, but finds it hard to shake off.  A snicker is heard behind them as they round the corner.  

“Don’t worry about it,” Iwaizumi says firmly.  It was as if he could read Oikawa’s thoughts.  

“Were they laughing at us?” 

“I don’t think so.”  

They finally reach the elevator and take it down to the ground floor.  The concert is being held on a stage in the music wing on the opposite side of campus  

Chilly air nips at their noses and cheeks as they walk, and Oikawa instantly regrets not bringing a jacket.  He squeezes Iwaizumi a little tighter, Oikawa’s way of telling him to hold him a little closer, and he does.  Iwaizumi is warm, and Oikawa clings to this warmness as they walk, trying hard not to shiver from the cold.  It’s a clear night, but the ever shining lights of Tokyo don’t allow for any stars to be seen.  Oikawa misses the stars.  They were one of his favorite parts of living in Miyagi.  

Others around them are also walking to the concert.  Some in groups three or four wide on the sidewalk, some behaving just like Oikawa and Iwaizumi, holding their partners close to brave the cold. 

After a few more minutes of walking they reach the music building, and thus the concert venue.  They enter the building—Oikawa holding the door open for Iwaizumi, and vice versa through the next set of doors—then find the desk where the tickets are being collected.  

They have their tickets collected and enter through to the venue.  The stage is moderately sized with large PA speakers on either side.  The floor below the stage is wide open, allowing the audience to get as close as they want to the stage.  It was an intimate venue, probably holding only a couple hundred people.  

The two of them look around to see if they can spot people they know.  Oikawa scans the crowd and spots Kuroo on the other side of the room waving them over.  They then weave through the crowd to get over to where he’s sitting.  

Oikawa doesn’t recognize most of the people at Kuroo’s table.  Kuroo introduces them one by one, but Oikawa knows he will just forget their names.  That’s how it usually went in college.  You meet someone, learn their name, forget it, then you never see them again.  It’s a terrible cycle.  

Meeting new people isn’t a problem for Oikawa, he’s rather good at making small talk and getting to know people.  He had tons of practice in high school—he went on more dates than he would ever admit to Iwaizumi, let alone anyone else he knows (of course, Hanamaki knows, because Hanamaki knows everything).  Naturally, all of that flew out the window when he met Iwaizumi.  Because, you know, logic.  

They sit down at the table and share assorted small talk with Kuroo’s friends.  After a few minutes Oikawa gets up to fetch a drink from the bar and find Hanamaki.  He orders a couple beers for himself and Iwaizumi, grabs them from the bartender, and turns around to scan the room for Hanamaki’s distinct pink hair (he dyed it pink out of spite after so many people told him it looked pink; it was actually strawberry blond).  It doesn’t take him long to spot it.  

He weaves through the crowd that is now starting to gather near the stage and walks up to Hanamaki, who greets him with a smile.  

“Glad you could make it!” Oikawa shouts above the dull roar of the crowd.  Hanamaki holds two thumbs up in response; aware of the futility of trying to speak aloud. 

Oikawa leads him over to the table where they are sitting and introduces Hanamaki to each one at the table, only forgetting a few names in the process.  One of them compliments Hanamaki on his bright pink hair.  No one compliments Oikawa on his hair.  Maybe he should dye it a wacky color as well.  

A tapping on a microphone can be heard over the crowd along with a clearing of a throat.  Heads turn towards the stage to listen to the emcee introduce the brands that were on the bill for the night.  Some people cheer for the bands they like as they are being announced, although most don’t really seem to care, or are simply ignorant.  One of the girls sitting at their table screams as one of the bands is announced, joining a few others in the crowd.  She explains that her boyfriend is in that particular band, sparking a small discussion about it.  Oikawa decides to tune it out and talk to Iwaizumi.  

“Do you know any of these bands?” Oikawa says loudly.  

“Nope.  Should be an interesting night.  Hopefully some of them are good.”  

“This part of Tokyo is known for its music scene,” Hanamaki butts-in, “so I would hope they’d be good.”  

“Do you listen to a lot of music, Hanamaki?” Iwaizumi asks.  

“A fair amount.  I care about it enough to take a 30 minute train ride here just to see some bands I’ve never heard of.”  That gets a chuckle out of both Oikawa and Iwaizumi.  

Oikawa reaches under the table and slips his hand into Iwaizumi’s, who squeezes back in response.  Oikawa isn’t sure if he wants to let others know that he’s dating Iwaizumi, but he also doesn’t exactly know if they care or not.  He finds it better just to play it safe, so under-the-table hand holds it is.   

The first band takes the stage for their soundcheck, then start their set a couple minutes later.  It’s pretty generic punk rock that doesn’t impress Hanamaki in the slightest.  Hanamaki takes on the role of music encyclopedia; citing multiple bands that must have had a great influence on the band that was playing now.  Oikawa finds it annoying.  Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to mind.  Kuroo butts-in every once in a while to give his opinion.  They were kind of being assholes.  

The second band up is a three piece alternative group.  They are more experimental with their sound, throwing in intricate beats and odd time signatures into their music.  Hanamaki thinks that they’re trying too hard.  Snob.  Oikawa tells him to shut his mouth and listen to the music.  

The third act is more of a traditional alternative rock band.  Their sound is carried by catchy choruses and danceable bass lines, accompanied by unique vocals by the guitar-playing front man.  Oikawa tunes out Hanamaki’s opinion on this band, but one could infer that it was either a) snobby, or b) along the lines of:  “They’re okay.”  

The fourth and final act grabs everyone’s attention by opening with a passionate and energetic instrumental, along with a rather flashy, but good guitar solo.  The vocalist of the band has a voice that is hard to describe.  It’s reserved, yet confident and smooth.  Oikawa likes them, and Iwaizumi also expresses his enjoyment of their sound.  They play a good mix of catchy tunes and slower, more emotional ones— they feel practiced, refined, and prepared.  

Hanamaki turns to Oikawa and taps him on the shoulder.  “Look at that bassist on the right,” he says, pointing at the stage.  “He’s pretty good.”  

The bassist is indeed good.  He has messy black hair and dark, bushy eyebrows.  He is taller than everybody else in the band, so much so that it’s almost comical to Oikawa.  He wears a relaxed, but focused expression on stage.  

“Yeah he’s really good,” Hanamaki says.

“Why don’t you go talk to him after the show?” Oikawa asks, prodding.  

“Maybe I will,” Hanamaki says seriously, too focused on the music to notice Oikawa’s teasing.  

The band’s set finishes a few minutes later and people start to trickle out of the venue.  Hanamaki goes backstage to talk to the bassist, much to Oikawa’s surprise.  Oikawa explains what happened to Iwaizumi, who laughs at Hanamaki’s dedication.  

“It sounds like he’s a music nut,” Iwaizumi says before finishing his drink.  

“Yeah he is.  It’s honestly a bit annoying.  He was criticizing a lot of the bands before the the last one.  He obviously has a crush on the bassist.”  

Kuroo overhears the last of what Oikawa says and laughs.  “Yeah I saw him staring pretty intently at the stage.  Either he really likes the music, or he really wants to get in his pants.”  

They all laugh.  

“Should we wait for him?” Oikawa asks.

“Might as well,” Iwaizumi answers.  “I’m not ready to leave.  I’m in the mood for another drink.  You want one?”

“Sure, I’ll take one.”  Oikawa replies. Iwaizumi gets up from the table and heads towards the bar.  

Kuroo gets up from his seat and sits next to Oikawa.  “Hard to believe that you were freaking about this night a couple weeks ago.  You guys seem to be hitting it off pretty well.”  

Oikawa smiles.  “Yeah, so far so good.  This was fun.  Thanks for suggesting it.”  

“No problem.  Just wanna make sure you two have plenty to do,” Kuroo says with a wink.  

“You don’t have to treat our relationship like it’s something sacred,” Oikawa says with a slight frown.  “It’s just like anyone else’s.”  

“Hey, I’m just trying to help ya, man.  You were pretty distressed about this thing so I want to make sure it works out for you.  I hate seeing people heartbroken.”

“Oh my god!” Oikawa exclaims as he breaks into laughter.  “You are so sappy!”  

“Oh shut the fuck up, Oikawa Tooru.  You’re the sappiest person I’ve ever met.” 

Oikawa is still laughing when Iwaizumi returns to the table.  He sets both drinks on the table, then opens his.  

“What’s so funny?” he asks.  

“Kuroo.  Kuroo is what’s funny,” Oikawa says, still laughing.  

Just then, Hanamaki returns to the table with the bassist from earlier in tow.  “This is Matsukawa Issei, he was playing bass for that last act.  I asked him if he wanted to drink with us.  Is that cool?”

It suddenly occurs to Oikawa that Hanamaki could very well be better at picking up guys than he is.  This upsets him.  

The group stays and drinks for a couple of hours.  Hanamaki hits it off with the bass player, and they’re eventually cracking jokes and snickering independent from the other conversations in the group.  The rest talk about the concert, their classes, food, and other random things.  It feels nice, and soon Oikawa settles in so much that he starts to lean against Iwaizumi and show more affection towards him.  No one in the group bat an eye.  Oikawa is relieved.  

Eventually they are kicked out by the staff who are in charge of the concert.  They are reminded that it is in fact, not a bar, but a school owned stage and building.  The group leave the venue and decide to split up and go their separate ways.  Hanamaki and Matsukawa walk towards the train station on the other side of campus, and Kuroo and a couple of his friends walk towards the dorms near the music building.  Iwaizumi and Oikawa elect to wait around for a moment until Hanamaki and Matsukawa make it a ways down the sidewalk.  

They sit down on a bench and Oikawa wraps his arms around Iwaizumi’s warm body.  Iwaizumi runs his hands through Oikawa’s wavy hair.  Oikawa can feel himself drifting to sleep, but he doesn’t mind.  He hasn’t slept with Iwaizumi yet, and he doesn’t care if it happens outside.  A few moments pass and Iwaizumi whispers to Oikawa that they should go.  Oikawa is starting to shiver in the cold, and Iwaizumi lends him his light sweater to warm him up a bit.  They join hands as they walk down the sidewalk.  

These are the moments that Oikawa wants to live for.  Silent walks in the dark, conversations that feel effortless, the warm feeling of Iwaizumi by his side.  He could picture himself living like this for the rest of his life.  Endless comfort.  Waking up to Iwaizumi by his side would make life worth living for.  This man has held the entirety of his attention for the past weeks, so why shouldn’t he commit?  He knows this is what he wants— 

No.  He needs to give it more time.  Don’t dive into things so fast.  That’s how mistakes are made.  

The air inside the dorm feels warm and satisfying as they walk in.  Oikawa takes off Iwaizumi’s sweater and returns it before he forgets.  Although, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to forget to take off.  

“Elevator or stairs?” Iwaizumi asks.  

“Stairs.” Oikawa answers.  More time to spend with Iwaizumi.  

They start up the stairs holding hands once again.  It just feels natural to do it.  There was no hesitation anymore. 

As they make it up the second flight of stairs, they hear a loud conversation happening on the flight above them.  Words are being slurred together, and their drunkenness is apparent even through their uneasy footsteps on the stairs.  Oikawa and Iwaizumi turn the corner and see the same two men they met on the way to the concert at the top of the flight.  They make room for them to pass, but the two drunk men are taking up a lot of room on the staircase.  Both of the men look at them intensely,  and the one that leads decides to speak a sentence that Oikawa was hoping never to hear.  

“Get a room, faggots.”  

Oikawa stops in his tracks, but is immediately tugged along by Iwaizumi before he can respond.  He pulls Oikawa through the door to the third floor and closes it.  

“What the fuck was that?!” Oikawa shouts.  

“Calm down, Oikawa.”  

“No.  That’s not okay.  They can’t talk to us like that.”

“I’m aware.  Just let it go for now.  If they were sober I’d say something.  Let’s just go back to our rooms and call it a night.  Try to forget about it.”  

Oikawa can’t forget about it.  Not that night, and not for days to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, am I going to have some fun writing this one. Please leave a comment if you liked it!


End file.
